


if I had to choose her or the sun I'd be one nocturnal son of a gun

by ginwhitlock



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Human Bella, No Jasper/Alice, Reincarnation, Soulmates, bella is from virginia bc why not, bella isnt edwards singer, dark!cullens, edward does something not good, for jasper tho, no bella/edward, not fluffy, not for the faint of heart id say, references to the antebellum perio, this has noncon elements but not sexually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginwhitlock/pseuds/ginwhitlock
Summary: Bella Swan is the first reincarnation of Jasper's love from his God of War days, poor girl.
Relationships: Jasper Hale/Bella Swan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	if I had to choose her or the sun I'd be one nocturnal son of a gun

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the song "Cupid's Chokehold" by Gym Class Heroes, loosely.... this isn't gonna be sweet yall. Jaspers kinda insane but I've been listening to this song nonstop for a while and had to do something with this title. It was truly meant to be fluffy. Guess I'm just not cut out to write fluff

_It’s been a while since we talked last_  
_But dad I’m thinking I found the one_  
_Type of girl that will make you way proud of your son_

Carlisle is barely twenty-three in this form. The good doctor slicks back his hair and crunches a tie into his cement throat and tries to not let on the other 340 years he feels in his bones. He’s got the chief of police believing in a medical prodigy now and at the end of that scarlet rope he still feels far too young to be lying this well. 

Blood orange eyes stare him down across his office, centuries spanning between their two bodies.

Jasper Whitlock: confidant, headstrong, loner.

Son? Brother? Friend?

He wears far too little for the pacific northwest. There’s still carmine dust on the seat of his denim jeans and hoof prints on his canvas jacket. He smells like wild wheat and wilder mustangs. In the small inside pocket of his warmth is a pack of cigarettes Carlisle can taste.

This far in the story there are no spoken words, the two men have never needed them.

A smooth, inhuman, strode places them loafer to cracked boot. A polaroid is faded slight against the cowboy’s diamond palm and Carlisle lets out a horrible breath.

_It’s gonna be a long drive home but I know as soon as I arrive home_  
_And I open the door, take off my coat, and throw my bag on the floor_  
_She’ll be back in my arms once more for sure_

He expected her to recognize him. Maybe a wink as she almost shut her locker door on her unpainted fingernails, as she opened the door her truck after sixth period, maybe even run the other direction at the sight of his familiar tobacco stained callouses.

Three days go by and… nothing.

Bella Swan proves herself reborn to a blank slate. No memories of southwestern hay bales or complicated bridles. Her blood smells like salvation and guilt, thin hips predictably carrying her ungracefully to the ground time and time again. On the fourth day she flips her waves over her bird-boned shoulder and he gets a glimpse of her pulse thrumming under her milky white complexion. The circles under Jasper’s eyes become trenches, gunpowder residue growing a familiar itch behind his ear. Alice holds his hand and immediately drops it. Like it was hot to the touch. Like her brother was on fire.  
Bella Swan is not Isobel Shepard.

And that’s what they try to tell him. All of them, all expect for the tiniest. The pixie girl stays silent, continuously staring ahead in a perpetual vision.

_And I will cherish every moment_  
_And when I start to build my future she’s the main component_

This is the story of a madman. A man with chewing tobacco for a tongue and obsidian crystals for eyes. He swears on torn bibles, spits immortal gospel out like tar, prays on the idea of her in his arms once more.

She was there and then she wasn’t and everything he loves goes up in smoke. He tells everyone how the pyre was built behind his back, he tries to grind out her last words as the woman he obeyed, but didn’t believe in, ordered for her extinction. A wild hare in a bear trap. That’s what Isobel was. An unknowing martyr to all his collapsing evil.

They leave him to his library and its screaming walls. He recounts the smell of her burning scalp to the stagnant air inclosing around him. Her throat, hoarse and pleading, for him. For her home.

_Everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet like here_

There’s no cure for spent wishes, he says. She died 1,286 miles from where she was born and wed, he reminds no one. She scratched off her wedding band the moment I bit her, the old man in the nineteen-year-old boy’s body repeats.

The singular photo of her in her wedding dress is stuck to Bella Swans arrival photo for the Forks High 2006 year book like it was made to be that way for the rest of eternity.

There are no physical differences between the two women. He breaks a lamp under the weight of her stare.

Alice screams loud enough to fracture the glass table in the foyer.

_Take a look at my girlfriend_  
_She’s the only one I got_

Edward offers up the bloodied body of one Miss Swan as Emmett retreats into the woods behind him. Her orbital bone is fractured like lightning from the slam of her face against her steering wheel, her cheekbone roseing into a mind-numbing shade of regret. Oil catches flame over his youngest brother’s shoulder and he smiles for the first time in a decade.

“She remembers you now.”


End file.
